Stray
by studentnumber24601
Summary: In which Dutchy wants a kitten, and Specs visits his family. [Rated for slash and a tiny bit of language, but it's 99 fluff.]


[disclaimer: Disney's, not mine. Alas.]

****

[Stray]

"I want a kitten."

"Dutchy–"

"What? I want a kitten."

Specs sighed. It was like talking to a little kid. A very blond, very sexy little kid. It occurred to him that it was probably odd to think his boyfriend resembled a pouting six year old, but he couldn't help it. Dutchy _was_ pouting. 

"You can't have a kitten."

"Why not?" Dutchy demanded.

There were so many reasons that Specs couldn't believe Dutchy even had to ask. He decided to start at the beginning. "Where would you _get_ a kitten, for one?" 

"Off the streets."

"What?"

"Oh, come on. There are thousands of stray cats in this city. It would be doing a nice thing, finding a baby that would probably starve without help. They're all over, we passed a dozen today easy."

Okay, so that was a fair point. But still... "You live in a lodging house. With a bunch of other people. Where would it sleep?"

"On my bed." Dutchy grinned.

"I thought that was where _I _sleep."

"Are you jealous of my kitten?"

"You don't have a kitten!"

"But I _want_ one."

Specs rolled his eyes. It was going to be one of _those_ conversations. "Kloppman probably wouldn't let you anyway."

"Says who?"

"Says the giant sign on his desk that says 'No Animals' in big letters." And then he almost felt mean; he knew Dutchy didn't read as well as he did and probably had never read the sign, even if he noticed it. He started to apologize, but Dutchy cut him off.

"He doesn't mean it."

"What makes you think that?"

"All the times he's said that animals is better behaved than boys."

"That don't mean he'd let you keep a cat."

"Not a cat, a _kitten."_

"Kittens grow up and become cats. Unless you was gonna leave it back on the streets in a few months?"

"No!" Dutchy snapped. "I want a kitten. Of course it'll be a cat eventually. But he'll be _used_ to the idea by then."

"Dutchy, you _can't_ _have a kitten."_

"Why _not?"_

"What would you feed it?"

"Like there ain't enough mice in this place for it to catch?" He shrugged. "I make enough to keep _me_ fed, and a kitten wouldn't eat too much. I'd share." He paused, then playing the pity card he gave Specs a helpless look. "And _you'd_ help me, right?"

"No!"

"But–"

"Dutchy. You. Can't. Have. A kitten."

"But I _want_ one."

"Why?" he finally demanded, frustrated.

Dutchy shrugged. "'Cause. I mean" He trailed off, and Specs was about to pounce on the pause and declare it a bad idea because it was just a whim, but he continued. "Look, you got your family, right?"

"I guess." Specs actually did have more of a family than most of the guys in the lodging house; his older brother worked in a factory, was married and had a few kids. He didn't spend much time with them, though he enjoyed it when he _did_ visit. "Yeah," he said. "So?"

"So I ain't got no one."

"You got me."

Dutchy looked up and grinned. "I know. But I mean, of my own. Family. I guess, just, a kitten wouldn't be much. But it would be _mine."_

And that was heartbreaking, and Specs desperately wanted to give Dutchy a kitten, but there was nothing he could really do. So instead he reached for Dutchy's hand, entwined their fingers, and gave it a soft squeeze. Enough to let Dutchy know he was there and wasn't going to leave.

Dutchy smiled. "Thanks," he said. "But I still want a kitten."

*

Change weighing down his pockets, Specs walked cheerfully towards his brother's apartment. He turned the last corner and was nearly to the right building when someone tackled him from behind–but as the tackler was an enthusiastic seven year old, it didn't do all _that_ much damage. Specs grinned as he turned around, picked up the kid and threw him over his shoulder like so many newspapers. The child–James, his nephew–squealed in delight. "Got you got you got you!" he yelled.

"Who's got who?" Specs demanded, spinning in a circle so James's arms and legs began to flap around. When he finished he reached down and scooped up Anna, his four year old niece, who had been trailing behind her brother. She giggled and kissed his cheek when he let her sit on his other shoulder, keeping a careful hand on her so she wouldn't fall, and his heart very nearly melted. He wondered again why he didn't come visit more often.

He let himself in and set down the kids so he could greet his sister-in-law, a lovely woman named Christine. She gave him a hug, took his jacket and insisted he sit down and have a snack–then proceeded to kick the kids back out so they could converse like adults.

"Aw, I don't mind having them around," Specs objected.

"They'll be in for dinner," she promised.

"I wasn't gonna stay–"

"Nonsense, it's Sunday and you're family, you'll stay for Sunday dinner." She smiled. "I insist."

"Well, uh–"

"Please, Uncle Rich?" James pleaded, and Specs smiled.

"Sure, kid."

"I um, I um," Anna said, then got her thoughts together. She spoke in a high girly voice and had a mess of giant curly brown hair, which fell in corkscrews around her face. "Um, will you come out and play?"

"Well, uh," Specs said. "I'll" He gave his sister in a law a look of desperation; he'd wanted to talk to her, but saying no to these children was nearly impossible.

"Stop pestering your uncle, dear," Christine said, as she was about the only person immune to her children's charms.

"But Uncle Ri-_ich,"_ whined James.

"I'll play after dinner, okay?" Specs suggested.

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart." He grinned and mimed the motions for crossing his heart. James nodded seriously. "Now go have fun."

James grinned, and seeing his brother's grin, so did Anna, and they skipped back outside. "They do love it when you visit, Rich," Christine said. "I wish you'd come by more often–you're their favorite baby sitter."

"Oh, I, uh" He shrugged guiltily. "I'll try to." But that was what he said every time.

"You know you're welcome to stay with us; the more the merrier." She gave him a warm smile and set about starting dinner. "I don't see _why_ you'd want to stay in that lodging house anyway, when you've got family."

"It's They're family, too." _And I don't like my brother very much,_ he added mentally. _And I want to stay with Dutchy._ Which was, he remembered, why he didn't visit very often. But Mark didn't seem to be home, which was just as well. 

"I'll take your word for that. So why're we so lucky to have you visit this evening?"

"Oh, I was just in the neighborhood You know, felt like stopping in." He smiled. "Can I help with anything, Chris?"

"No, no, just sit and relax. How was selling today?"

"Good–real good." He paused, then dug into his pocket and dropped a handful of change on the table. He left himself enough for food, lodging and papers, but it was the up season for sales and he had a good deal extra. "For you and the kids."

"Rich. You know we won't–"

"Take it. Please."

"Richard–"

"Christine, you're my brother's wife–those are my niece and nephew. I _know_ you need the help, and the lodging house is only a nickel a week and–please just take it."

"Oh, Richard." She sighed. "You really don't have to."

"I know. I _want_ to. It's the least I can do. I'm luckier than most of the guys I know, I mean, I've got a family to help out."

She smiled again and swallowed hard, looking suspiciously like she might tear up. "Well, if you insist–"

"I do."

She turned back to her cooking and he smiled to himself. "How's Mark?"

"Busy, as always." She sighed. "We barely see more of him than we do of _you."_

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, it's not your fault."

"How's James doing in school?"

"Quite well, we're so proud of him–" She froze suddenly and began to listen intently. There was the sound of frantic footsteps.

"Mom! _MOM!"_ came a desperate voice from the hallway, and the door was thrown open. "Mom mom mom mom _mom–"_

"What _is_ it?" she asked, rushing to greet her son and kneeling to catch him. He threw himself into her arms and was almost in tears.

"Outside. Come on, outside you have to come you have to _hurry!"_ He grabbed her arm and began to pull towards the door; Specs had a sudden wave of fear that something had happened to Anna and was sure that Christine did too, so he dashed on up ahead and outside.

Crouched on the sidewalk, crying, was Anna. "Anne, are you hurt?" he asked, picking her up again and wrapping his arms around her.

_"Kitten!"_ she wailed, crying and pointing to where she'd been crouched. He followed her gaze and saw a very small kitten lying in on the sidewalk, covered in blood and matted fur. And he could see why she was crying; from just a casual glance it was hard to tell if the kitten was alive or dead.

James and his mother burst out the door and James pulled her to where the kitten was lying. Her face paled, and she nodded with understanding. "James, go get me a few towels, please. Quickly."

James dashed back inside and Specs set down Anna. "What happened?" he asked.

"Big kids," she said in her high pitched voice. "With rocks. Will it, will it be okay?"

"I don't know, darling," Christine said, and hugged her daughter. 

Specs gave the kitten a closer look. He was sure now that it was alive, though it didn't sound like it was breathing too well, and the fur around its head and neck was slick with blood. The rest was matted and gnarled, and caked in mud so thick it was hard to tell what color the fur was underneath. It wasn't moving.

James ran back outside and handed his mother the towel, and she used it to carefully pick up the kitten. "Come inside now," she said and carried it in. James grabbed Specs's hand on one side, and Anna took his hand on the other, and they followed her in to the apartment. 

She set about cleaning it up, not sure there was much she could do, but she got the blood off, then found a pair of sewing scissors and cut off the fur around the cuts, so she could clean them more carefully. The kitten woke up and began to mewl loudly and Specs was given the fun job of holding it tightly so she could finish cleaning it. He came away with a few cuts, but the poor thing was too weak to do much. Specs noticed that aside from being hurt from stupid, malicious hooligans throwing rocks at it, it was also terribly underfed.

"It's gotta be a stray," he commented.

"Poor dear." She sighed and began to trim the worst of the matting of its fur away, since there was no way to comb it neatly. When she was done the trim was uneven, parts almost shaved and parts still relatively long, and it had fallen back asleep.

"Will it be okay, Mama?" James asked.

"I think so."

"Can we keep it?"

"I'm afraid not, darling."

"But it'll _die_ if it gets hurt again!"

"James, we can't keep a cat here. It's against the apartment rules."

"But _Mama,_ it'll _starve_ or they'll hurt it again! We _need_ to keep it! We gotta!" He stomped his foot and clenched a fist. Specs sensed a tantrum in the future.

"James, stop that this instant."

James hesitated; Specs suspected that he knew better than to throw a tantrum. He finally settled for pouting and stomping his foot. "But it'll _die!"_

"Well, we'll keep it here for the evening, give it a good meal. But the apartment rules–and I don't think your father would like a cat."

Specs nodded his agreement; Mark wasn't a cat person, exactly. Mark wasn't a pet person in general. It was one of the many ways they were different, despite having grown up together.

"But Mom"

"I'm sorry, dear, but rules are rules." She set the cat, still wrapped in the towel, in a corner of the apartment and put out a piece of fish she'd been cutting for dinner. It woke up and took a lick or two, but was too tired or weak to do more than that. It looked up and gave Specs a woozy look–he noticed it had pretty light blue eyes–and fell back asleep.

Christine ushered the children back outside. "I don't understand what sort of rotten person would do that to a poor kitten," she muttered angrily. "I hate to turn the thing out. I _hate_ to do it. But the building rules are strict and Mark Well, perhaps _you_ could talk to him, Rich?"

"Uh" he said. "I thought the building rules were strict?"

"I'm sure they could be bent. If Mark would let us keep it"

Specs groaned inwardly. Trying to convince his brother of anything was difficult.

*

Mark _had_ been glad to see his little brother when he first walked in, but that feeling faded as the argument started a few minutes later.

"But _Mark–"_

"It's my family, Rich, and it's _my_ house and I will not let that filthy thing in!"

"It'll starve! It's barely big enough to walk, let alone to take care of itself. Even _you_ wouldn't let a poor thing like that starve."

"Even _me?_ What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Specs wanted to yell in frustration. He and his brother looked similar, given that his brother was a full eight years older, but that was where the resemblance ended. Specs liked his sister-in-law far more than his brother, and really only continued to keep contact at all for the sake of his niece and nephew. 

"It means that if you won't take the poor thing in, you've got no heart."

"No heart? _I'm_ not the one who walked out on our family; _I'm_ not the one who refused to go to our own uncle's funeral!"

"Our uncle was a bastard and this has nothing to do with him. And–and you _know_ he was a bastard, damn it, you _know_ why I left."

"I know that he raised you after Dad died, and you were an ungrateful, sniveling–"

"I know that I got sick of being black and blue every day, and didn't feel like getting my arm broke again!"

The two of them glared at each other again, and Specs made himself take a deep breath. "This isn't about what happened. It's not about why I left. It's about a _kitten,_ for god's sake!"

"The answer is no. The answer is no, just like I _said_ it was when you _started_ this stupid discussion ten minutes ago. Honestly, you're worse than my children."

And then they sat in silence and glared some more, until Christine asked Specs to go get the kids, because it was time for dinner. "I tried," he told her softly.

"I know."

Specs found Anna and James with no trouble and gave James a piggyback in to the apartment. "Dad, can we keep the kitten?" he asked.

"No."

"But _Dad–"_

"I said _no._ That is the _end_ of it."

James fell silent, Christine served dinner, and Specs watched the kitten in the corner. Things became less tense as the meal went on, thankfully, and he smiled to himself as he saw the kitten wake up and try and eat more of the fish. It began to wander around and sniff at things, and he half-listened to all of the conversation around him, but reached down to pet the kitten when it walked by his chair. 

It began to bat at his fingers and he scooped it up. It made itself comfortable in his lap, gave him a sleepy cat version of a smile, and fell asleep. He went back to the conversation, which had come back to the cat.

"Overnight," Mark said. "I'll drop it back outside when I leave in the morning."

"Can it sleep with me?" James asked. "I'll take good care of it tonight, I promise."

"No. It's filthy, it's probably got fleas."

"But–"

"I'll take it." Specs absently scratched behind its ears as it slept.

Mark gave him an annoyed look. "Why didn't you just _say_ so earlier?"

"I just decided." He thought of the conversation he'd had with Dutchy the day before, and all of the reasons it was impractical. The kitten licked his fingers. He grinned. "I'll take good care of it."

"That's wonderful, Rich!" Christine said. "I'm sure you'll take _wonderful_ care of it. Well, her, I think."

"Her. Hmmm." He thought about it for a second. "She needs a name. What should I call her, kids?"

*

Mark sighed and walked his brother out the door and shut it gently behind them. It was much later than Specs had planned to leave, and the kids were in bed–finally. They'd refused to go to sleep without a goodnight story from their uncle, and while Specs was happy to oblige, he also knew he'd be missing the lodging house's curfew.

"So." He leant against the wall.

"Yeah." Specs pet the kitten in his arms.

"You should come again for Sunday dinner next week. The kids love you, and it would mean a lot to Chris."

Specs shrugged; he didn't feel like arguing with his brother, who would never understand why he'd left home for the life of a newsboy, no matter how many times they discussed it at the top of their lungs. That seemed to be the _only_ way they discussed things.

"You know, she thinks of you like her own stray kitten," Mark continued, when Specs didn't say anything. "A kid off the streets she can help out."

"I'm not that bad off. I don't need help." He thought about the handful of change he'd slipped to Christine earlier. He was probably doing as well for himself as Mark was for his family. 

"You'll never convince her of that. She likes to help–like you do." He dug into his pocket, produced a few coins, and pressed them back into Specs's free hand. "When we need your help, I'll ask."

"No you won't."

Mark shrugged. Specs was right; he probably wouldn't. "Look, Rich–I know, you and I don't get along. But the kids love you, and Chris loves you."

Specs gave him a wry look. "And you'll tolerate me for their sake?"

_"You_ walked out on _us,_ not the other way around."

"Whatever. I've got to get going."

"Yeah, fine. Just Remember where we are, next time you can't afford that lodging house of yours, okay? You don't need to sleep on the streets."

"You don't have to worry about me. You've got a wife and kids to worry about instead."

"My wife and kids aren't the ones without a home."

"I've _got_ a home."

"If you want to call it that."

"I like the lodging house, and Look. I've got to go," he said again, having already had this argument too many times. 

"Okay. 'Night, Rich."

"'Night, Mark." He walked away, annoyed at his brother, but the annoyance slipped away as he pet the kitten.

*

He missed curfew by five minutes, and had to argue with Kloppman to get in. But Kloppman relented; he'd never admit it, but he loved all of his adopted children and wouldn't deny them a place to sleep. Specs thanked him profusely and started up the stairs, the kitten snuggled inside his jacket.

The kitten sneezed. He froze.

"Specs?" Kloppman asked. "That didn't sound like _you."_

"Uh."

"What's in your jacket?"

"Nothing!"

A few of the guys who were sitting around playing cards looked up to watch. Dutchy ducked down from upstairs, hearing Specs's voice.

"Uh huh." Kloppman didn't sound impressed. "Get back here."

Specs groaned and did as he was told, and Kloppman opened his jacket and found the kitten. Specs winced.

"No I _know_ that _you_ can read," Kloppman said accusingly and rapped a fist against the _no animals_ sign. "So tell me, what's that say?"

"But–"

"No buts. No animals. Get it out."

Specs set the poor kitten on the counter and gave Kloppman a helpless look. "It was bleeding," he pleaded. "That's why it's fur's all funny, my sister had to cut it to get to where it was hurt. It _ can't_ live on the streets. It'll die."

Kloppman sighed. "You know the rule."

Specs gave him a hopeful look. "But you always said, animals is better behaved than boys."

*

Specs absently played with Stray, as she'd eventually been named. She was playful, now that she was awake and feeling better; having had a meal and water seemed to help. Now they were both seated on his bed, and she was having a great time trying to catch his fingers.

"Specs?" Dutchy asked, standing leaning against the bedpost. "Um Is that a kitten?"

"Yep."

"Okay." Dutchy sat down on Specs's bed and reached for her, but Stray dashed away and hid behind Specs. He leaned behind Specs and looked at the kitten. "I thought I couldn't have a kitten."

"Who says I got her for you?" Specs asked. Dutchy gave him a slightly hurt look; it had been a _little_ presumptuous, but still. He'd wanted a kitten, and his boyfriend appeared with one the next day.

"Oh." He tried not to sound disappointed.

Specs grinned, picked up Stray, and handed her to Dutchy. "She's ours. Our family. Together."

Dutchy scratched behind Stray's ears. "Hmm." He thought about it for a second. "Yeah, I like that even better than having her to myself."

Dutchy put a hand gently over Specs's, and a moment later Stray pounced on it. Maybe it wasn't a _usual_ family, but that didn't matter. A family of strays was still a family.

****

[fin]

[AN: My family just began to foster underweight kittens for the SPCA, until they're big enough to be adopted. And man, these are the cutest, tiniest kittens I've ever seen This whole thing started with just the dialogue between Specs and Dutchy, and then I had an idea for Specs's family, and it went from there. I kind of want to write more about Specs now, actually. Hmm.

As always, feedback of all sorts is welcomed and greatly appreciated. :)

-B]


End file.
